


Dining with the Rich and Stupid

by looking_for_wisdom



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 20:50:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20197978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looking_for_wisdom/pseuds/looking_for_wisdom
Summary: In which General Nazyalensky strongly advises her king against picking fights with their potential benefactors, especially when said fight is on her behalf, lest she remind him just how badly marks left by her fists sting when she deems there is a need to preserve her honor.





	Dining with the Rich and Stupid

“That’s not legal,” Nikolai stated matter-of-factly, which earned him only a sharp laugh. 

He should have known Zoya could fight her own battles. Saints, she should be the one standing up for him. He was the damsel in distress— not her. He was the prince and she his knight. So, though he meant well, she wouldn’t try to suffocate the wave of irritation that went through her when he came to her rescue.

It had begun with the standard political dinner, as if Zoya hadn’t already had enough reason to hate them. Such was the trouble of being an important person— there’s no hope to slip away undetected. Nikolai had insisted she’d come despite the fact he was bargaining for sponsorship. Zoya had never found finance particularly interesting, especially when it was a matter of wooing the rich. She’d had quite enough of wealthy men for one lifetime.

Unfortunately, she didn’t trust anyone else with the job of Nikolai’s partner. So she’d gone, and faked a smile and laughed at mediocre jokes and whispered silly secrets to Nikolai.

Men were horribly stupid that way. They blinded themselves with their assumptions of her and she never failed to be amused at their shock when they found out the King’s giggling arm candy had been speaking their demise into his ear the whole time.

It’d been going so well. The Count had done everything but vocally promise his support. It would have only taken a few more moments, but for perhaps the first time ever, Nikolai had decided to put his feelings before the state’s affairs. Zoya had always called him a fool but she’d never once believed it until then.

“If I were so inclined to agree to your terms,” the old man said, a mirth in his voice that suggested Nikolai had already convinced him, “perhaps you’d be grateful enough to allow me a night with your general. I’ve heard only good things.”

He said the word “general” as if it were a title only put before her name to justify her spot as the king’s whore. That was the rumor after all, and why would he believe she was a threat when he’d never seen her play that role. She could have gutted a man in front of him and he still might have made excuses for her. How could a woman so beautiful have room left for cruelty, men like him would wonder, as if cruelty and beauty hadn’t always gone hand in hand.

She’d inhaled sharply, barely keeping her rage in check, but bit her tongue. The insult to her intelligence was more infuriating than his poorly hidden lust. She was used to the latter. The former was almost as common, but she allowed less people to get away with it.

She’d been about to answer with a disappointed excuse when Nikolai had jumped in, mistaking the way her body tensed for fear rather than anger.

“She is not a gift of mine to give or, for that matter, a prize of yours to take,” he’d answer with coldness in his voice that sucked any trace of humor from the room. When no one spoke he opened his mouth again as if to further scold the Count, but Zoya didn’t give him the chance.

She placed her hand on his knee. To an onlooker it might have looked like an act of comfort, sweet, even. But Nikolai knew how tightly she was gripping him. They’d worked together far too long for him to miss recognize her threat.

She smiled gingerly and broke the silence. “Now, now,” she cooed, relying on the one rumor that could save them, “there’s no reason to be jealous. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

She winked at the count from across the room, becoming more irritated by the second that she was the one forced to clean up this mess. The King could afford the gossip of being territorial of his lovers— his father had survived such rumors. He would not, however, endure being painted as the enemy of all disgusting men. They were a needed enemy for the time being— they held 70% of Ravka’s wealth.

Zoya felt him become even more tense beneath her hand, but he got the message. She didn’t want his help.

The Count still seemed on edge, but he at least seemed to understand the explanation. Encroaching on another man’s property was frowned upon. Doing so to a king was just foolish.

“Unfortunately,” Zoya continued when she was sure the situation had been diffused as best as possible, “I fear I’ve had a bit too much to drink. Perhaps we can finish this discussion in the morning when our minds our fresh?”

The Count nodded though there was still a hint of strain in his face. Nikolai offered him a half-hearted thanks, though Zoya didn’t count doing the bare minimum as coming to his senses.

“Nikolai, would you be a dear and walk me to my room?” She asked, her voice honey sweet but her eyes assuring it wasn’t really a request.

They weren’t two steps from the dining room when Zoya’s facade dropped, but she waited until they were behind closed doors to truly let lose.

The guest room she’d been allowed to stay in was large, albeit tacky, but with sun gone from the sky the room’s only source of light was the fireplace in front of the bed. It was there that she finally stopped and turned to meet Nikolai’s eyes. His expression was unreadable and sent a fresh wave of anger through her.

“What was that?” She snapped, finally, like a predator pouncing on its prey.

Any evidence of that impulsive, stubborn anger was gone from his face. It was almost enough to make Zoya think it’d never existed in the first place. Outbursts like that were rare from Nikolai— no, unheard of. Not once had she ever seen him lose his temper so suddenly. Not once, at least, before that dinner.

When he spoke, he did so with nonchalance, as if there had been nothing strange about it. The act made Zoya want to steal the breath from his lungs just to stop his words.

“You are a member of the Grisha Triumvirate, appointed by the King of Ravka. The Count knows you rank above him and that such behavior is completely unprofessional and a disrespect to the crown itself. To be completely honest I’m surprised you hadn’t torn him limb from limb before I had the chance— we both know your perfectly capable of it,” he answered with a half smile as if he expected her to return his banter.

Zoya was in no such mood.

She should have expected he’d know exactly what to say. Nikolai always did, and yet she was still taken aback by his approach. Leave it to him to appeal to her logic and pride of her position. When he said it like that, it almost made sense. But she had been in the room with him, and the disdain in his voice had not been that of a cleverly worded warning. It’d been the disdain of a man playing the part of the noble hero. He had come to her defense not because they both knew damn well she had more than earned the Count’s respect. He’d done it because she was Zoya— a human being who deserved to be treated like a person, not an object.

Zoya knew it with every cell in her body, because if he’d really been driven by the former she would not be feeling a long buried hope rising in her again. There would not be a part of her who was grateful to him, despite the stupidity of his actions, because she was convinced that no other man would have even thought to call the Count out that way.

She forced that feeling deep inside herself and directed her focus on more practical things. His kindness meant nothing when Ravka couldn’t afford a king who picked reckless battles.

“We don’t need some crusty old man’s respect, Nikolai,” she retorted, once again shocked that he of all people needed this reminder. “We need his money. Have you forgotten our country is broke or are you simply that stupid? If wasn’t going to have to sleep with him before, I certainly do after the stunt you’ve just pulled. But, of course, you’re right. The country is just fine to play sacrifice so you can be a hero.”

Nikolai paled and Zoya thought idly that her last comment might have been a tad unfair before he answered.

“No.”

“No, what?” She demand.

“No, you don’t have to sleep with anyone,” Nikolai answered, face fierce, leaving no room for dispute, “that is not your job. No one would ask that of you.”

She stared back at him, incredulous. This was not the usual assumption she could be softened and taught feelings. This was the assumption that she already had them— that she need not change in order to avoid being asked to sell herself. Zoya wasn’t sure which was the bigger insult.

“No one is asking anything of me,” she said sharply, “I am willing to do whatever it takes to save my country. In fact, the point of this conversation is to remind you that you have always done the same.”

There was a pause as she watched him straighten, line set in a thin line. She knew this persona well, but she couldn’t remember the last time it had been used on her. This was Nikolai the King, not Nikolai the colleague.

“You will give that man nothing,” he stated, “that is a direct order from your king.”

Zoya’s eyes narrowed and she spoke slowly so he would understand what she was saying.

“Nikolai, I chose to follow you all these years because I thought you would be good for Ravka, but do not mistake me. I am not some pawn to control as you please. I have acted on your former requests because I have found no reason not to trust you. I suggest you do not make me reconsider that decision."

The room was silent for a long moment and Zoya found herself feeling sick. This was not the Nikolai she had come to know. This was not who she had saved from the thorn wood and fought along side in the war. The incident at dinner was perplexing, but at the end of the night she could have reduced it to a simple fluke. This was different. This was like seeing the old king out of the face of a boy she’d grown to depend on. This felt desperately close to losing him.

But then his face softened and Nikolai was himself again. Zoya felt herself breath again, though she hadn’t realized she’d ever stopped.

“That is the Zoya I know,” he said finally, “I don’t understand where she went tonight.”

Zoya searched for words as a new anger rose in her chest. The hypocrisy of it was almost laughable. Just a moment before he’d had her thinking she had lost him to his own power. The grief of the prospect was still fresh. And now he asked how she could possibly act the part of something she was not?

Before the thorn wood perhaps she might have reacted the way he expected, before the civil war there was no doubt about it. But since she and Juris had become one she found that vengeance could wait. Patience was no difficult thing when she could feel lifetimes coursing through her. It was almost insulting that he thought she was such a liability.

“I would burn down cities for this country. Enduring one evening of ignorance is nothing if it means we will be able to pay for the upcoming war. You know that as well as I.“

This time, Nikolai didn’t argue. Zoya relaxed with the knowledge that Nikolai’s oddness at dinner had been just that: an oddity. She still didn’t understand what cord had been struck to trigger such an uncharacteristic reaction, but she took comfort in the reassurance that it would not happen again.

“I have dealt with the Count’s brand of stupidity for 13 years and have yet to stumble upon a new insult to rile me. You, on the other hand, have quite the knack of finding new ways to spark my frustration whenever I think I’m immune,” she teased allowing the conversation to fall back on more familiar banter.

“You give them too little credit,” Nikolai retorted, following her lead, “Surely you weren’t nine when it started— maybe when you really hit year thirteen they’ll find some clever way to spite you.”

Zoya quirked an eyebrow at that. He thought she was exaggerating the disgusting tendencies of men?

“If anything it’s been longer. Nine was simply the first time they put me in a wedding dress,” she said, feeling as if she’d won this round.

His next words kept her from feeling too smug, though. Only three words and yet they conveyed a whole world of naivety— a trait she’d never associated with him. Too late she remembered the disgust in his face as she’d suggested possible suitors. She’d thought it was a personal standard— she could understand refusing to wed a fifteen year old. Teenage boys were beyond irritating. But the prospect that he truly thought it a universal belief that taking a child’s innocence was wrong? It was a moral she shared but knew most did not.

That laugh was all she could manage. It might have been a bit cruel, but she couldn’t decide whether to be impressed by his horror or simply annoyed by his ignorance on the matter. “That’s not legal,” he’d said. Zoya wished that statement had been true for the nine year old her mother had tried to marry off.

“Your pampered upbringing is showing,” she commented, knowing how much effort he’d put into understanding the life of commoners but not caring as long as it wiped that pitiful look from his face.

Once again he said nothing and Zoya thought absently of all the times she’d wanted to put him at a loss for words. This was much less satisfying then she’d hoped. She knew she’d never mentioned it before— to be frank she hadn’t meant to let it slip out— but she’d never expected such a reaction.

“Quit looking at me like I’m an injured doe. Nothing came of it. I was discovered as grisha and brought to the little palace before I could go through with the wedding.”

“And if you hadn’t been grisha?” He asked eyes cold with an anger that wasn’t directed at her.

If she wasn’t grisha? Zoya didn’t want to think of that. Would she even be herself without her power? Would she be alive without it?

“What does that matter?” She snapped, not wanting to consider it any longer.

He stared at her for a moment, a silent conversation transcending between them. His gaze seemed to analyze her for any hint of pain left over from over a decade before. Perhaps she would have had something to offer if he’d been there thirteen years ago. If Nikolai had been there... it was an interesting thought. If they’d known each other back then when she’d had Liliyana and raw ambition and fear. If they’d known each other when she’d been cruel, a pawn in the darkling’s plan. Would things have been different? Would the grief in her be any easier to bear?

If she’d known his warmth during the worst of her life would she be able to give him up to Ehri in a few short months?

She was shaken by her wondering when Nikolai finally spoke. “Do you have any parchment here?” He questioned.

It took a moment to process the odd shift in subject, but Zoya gestured to her right. “In the desk.”

He nodded and settled at the poorly lit table. He didn’t speak for a long moment, focusing on whatever he was writing. Zoya watched him from her place by the fire, confused but not willing to start another conversation.

After what seemed like hours he stood and turned to face her, paper in hand. “We return to Os Alta tomorrow morning. Upon our arrival I begin the process of declaring this law.”

She took the page from his outstretched hand. It was a legal document— a bill amending the legal age of marriage thirteen.

It was obvious that he wasn’t completely content with it— if he’d had it his way he probably would have gone so far as sixteen or eighteen, but change was slow in Ravka.

Zoya, however, did not share his disappointment. At thirteen she would have understood what the marriage entailed. She would have fought back. It was a step in the right direction.

She felt an aching gratefulness go through her body as she thought of the little girls who would be saved by her face. This time, Zoya was the one without words. She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing her impulsive temptations down with it.

Still, she could not chase away one realization: she had not known him all those years ago. She could not change that. But somehow having him with her now made the tragedy a bit easier to handle. He gave her suffering hope.

She wanted to do something, anything, to tell him that. But in the end she knew she had no such luxury. There had once been a time where they could spend entire nights spilling secrets. Nights where she could watch him in guarded wonder as his kindness prevailed despite Ravka’s often infectious despair.

Those nights had ended when he’d taken her advice and chosen a bride.

She handed the decree back to him, before replying.

“It’s late. You should leave before people are given any more reason to believe you aren’t taking your engagement seriously.”

He pursed his lips and for a moment it looked as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only nodded.

“Good night, General Nazyalensky.”

Not trusting herself with an apathetic reply she stood on her toes and planted a small peck on his cheek. She hoped it might say what she could not. 

After he’d left Zoya had laid in bed for hours, cursing him for being impossible to stay angry with.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a relatively old piece but in an attempt to motivate myself I thought I'd post some writing i'm still proud of. Thanks for reading, it means a lot :) Back into the abyss of lost inspiration for me then, I suppose.


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